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Ode to Wormwood

Growing on roadsides and wasted places
the wormwood braces itself against wind,
remains strong, please, there is a fierce poison
here, the water will be polluted, the
drink held in your hand, downed fast with eyes closed,
resting on the passage in the bible:

'and the third part of the waters became
wormwood and many men died of the waters
because they were made bitter.'

Such is the way of real exterminates,
ridding people of the pests found within
the deaths of souls, the flowers that die,
in the ruins of such allowances,
we all try to fight—severe bludgeoning
from these killers, such foul, foul addictions.

I love you wormwood, so misunderstood
defiant, dear life, near death, it suits you,
the sanctuary, so clear is the symbol
here, the water will be polluted, the
drink held in your hand, downed fast with eyes closed,
resting on the passage in the bible.